


black cats and voodoo dolls

by apricots



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Bad Jokes, Comedy, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Ghosts, Haunting, Implied Relationships, M/M, Ouija
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12379041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricots/pseuds/apricots
Summary: P-L-A-Y-T-H-E-G-A-M-E-K-A-I-B-APost-series, pre-DSOD, dub anime universe. Seto Kaiba definitely isn't haunted, because that would bestupid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> she'll make you live her crazy life but she'll take away your pain, like a bullet to your braaaaaaiiiin
> 
> (trying to get back into a groove writing so i can work on my WIPs, end up writing off-brand comedy instead? whoops) (happy halloween...?)

It is late. The city lights outside the enormous glass windows are colorful and bright. The light pollution in Domino City overwhelms the stars in the sky; they can't be seen within city limits. This is the way Seto prefers things. Why look to the stars when you get a view just as good down here? The constellations formed by human activity mean something. Every one of those dots of light in the city is born of decades of scientific innovation. Those lights were designed, placed, wired, and activated by human effort. An improved cosmos; purposeful and organized.

Seto's apartment is dimly lit. The enormous mostly-empty living room is as cold and minimalist as his office. Seto, sitting on a pristine white couch, steeples his fingers and scowls. He's dressed down, which for him means "not wearing a coat." The flat black of his shirt and pants is a sharp contrast to the rest of the room, making him seem somehow more present than anything else. His disruption of the room's carefully-curated color palette highlights him as the most important thing present. That's how things ought to be.

On the glass coffee table sits a ouija board-- an _old_ one, of course, a proper spirit board made of wood, not a cheap plastic toy. The board's planchette sits on the table next to it. Because it is a board, it does not respond to Seto's scowling in any way. It simply sits. Taunting him with its very presence. This is not, naturally, the sort of thing Seto would normally waste any time on. It's a superstition. It's _stupid._ But... it has been months.

He's not getting desperate, of course, because Seto Kaiba is not capable of that kind of desperation. It's not in his character. (This is a lie he tells himself. Now, as ever, there is only one person who can push him to desperation.) He's just thinking that very possible route to the afterlife (the fact that he has to even think about that like it's a real thing makes him want to _gag_ ) ought to be investigated so that it can be discarded. It's only sensible-- only _scientific--_ to make absolutely sure that he has tried _everything._ If he hasn't actually tried everything, then he's hardly tried at all.

Obviously it won't do anything, because ouija boards are idiotic party games for easily-duped elementary schoolers. Seto narrows his eyes accusatorily at the board, which continues to sit on the table. This will do nothing and he will look like a fool. It's best to just get it over with.

With an aggravated sigh, he shifts forward and picks up the planchette. It doesn't feel particularly magical, probably because it's a bit of wood. Seto presses the planchette onto the middle of the board with two long fingers. He rolls his eyes, then says, "Pharaoh."

The room feels almost imperceptibly warmer. Seto feels something brush against his arm, like there's someone there. He refuses to look, of course. He's imagining things. He continues glaring at the ouija board. "If you're waiting for me to ask nicely, you'll be waiting forever," he snaps.

Something tugs at the planchette, sharply; Seto jerks his hand back as though burned. It doesn't move without his hand on it. He looks around the room, eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of joke?"

There is no one nearby. He is not happy about this. Muttering about the placebo effect, he puts his fingers back on the planchette. This time he doesn't jerk back when the planchette moves; he just gazes at it with faint disgust.

I-A-M-H-E-R-E

"Uh-huh," he says. "Great."

S-K-E-P-T-I-C-A-L-A-S-E-V-E-R

Seto runs his tongue over his teeth and exhales an irritated breath through his nose. His arm is tingling. He shifts back; as he starts to lift his fingers off the planchette, he feels something (something _warm_ ) grab his wrist. His hand moves again.

W-H-A-T-D-I-D-Y-O-U-W-A-N-T-T-O-A-S-K

"This is an incredibly inefficient way to talk to myself," he mutters.

P-L-A-Y-T-H-E-G-A-M-E-K-A-I-B-A

" _You_ play the game. These responses are way too long. I'm getting bored. You always did talk too much."

A-S-K-A-Q-U-E-S-T-I-O-N

"Would you shut up?! Fine!" Seto glares at his hand. Now he has to think of a question. This is more difficult than he thought. It was always Atem doing most of the talking. It's hard to snap cutting remarks at a board. "How much longer are you planning on hiding from me?"

Were Seto a superstitious sort of person who believed in these sorts of things, he might have sworn he heard a faint low chuckle. But of course he is not, and he hears nothing of the sort, because there are no ghosts here.

A-B-S-E-N-C-E-M-A-K-E-S--

"'The heart grow fonder?' _Please_ ," Seto scoffs. "There's no amount of absence that could possibly get me anywhere near _fond_ of you. Frankly, the suggestion is offensive."

I-S-T-H-A-T-S-O

"Yes, that's _so_ ," he says irritably. "You're not the one who's supposed to be asking the questions here, Pharaoh. Answer me."

I-A-M-N--

"At least use contractions, you insufferable nitwit."

I-M "Better." N-O-T-H-I-D-I-N-G. "Bullshit you aren't."

W-E-L-L-K-A-I-B-A-I-D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W-W-H-A-T-T-O-T-E-L-L-Y-O-U

Seto continues scowling at his hand as it's tugged all over the board for this last one. Typical Atem; jerking him around, talking at length without ever really saying anything, forcing Seto into a situation where he _has_ to indulge his narcissistic kingly monologuing. "Don't know what to tell me? How about you tell me when you're going to stop screwing around like some kind of fluttery little girl and get back here? Face me like a real duelist."

A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E

Kaiba glowers, hackles rising. "You have _unfinished business, Pharaoh,_ " he spits. " _Finish it._ "

D-O-I-N-O-W

"You lost on purpose to Yugi Muto," he hisses. "Coward. Running away to the afterlife with your tail between your legs. Come _back._ You have a life to live. You think you're done now? You expect me to believe you're _satisfied?_ Please."

K-A-I-B-A-- "Stop ouija-ing like you talk, you _nightmare!_ " T-S-K. Seto makes a frustrated noise and tries to jerk his hand off the planchette again, but his arm locks up. An uncomfortable ache blooms under his skin from his fingertips to his shoulder. The sensation isn't quite like anything he's ever felt before; it is too cold and too warm and tingling. Seto snarls, "What is this? What are you doing to me?"

I-W-A-S-N-T-D-O-N-E

"Well, speed it up. You think I've got time to watch you meander all day? I have a company to run," he says irritably. Nothing in his posture, voice, or expression betrays how deeply unnerved he is by this whole experience. It occurs to him, distantly, that _maybe_ summoning an ancient evil Egyptian ghost wasn't the best idea. He dismisses the thought promptly. Seto Kaiba has never had a bad idea in his life.

C-O-N-S-I "Considering I want you back, I'm being awfully hostile, blah blah blah, get to the point."

F-I-N-I-S-H-I-N-G-M-Y-S-E-N-T-E-N-C-E-S-F-O-R-M-E-N-O-W

"You're welcome."

D-I-D-I-T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U

At that, Seto just makes another aggravated noise. If it were possible to scowl harder, he would do that. It's not, so he just grinds his teeth and tenses his shoulders and stares without blinking at the planchette yanking around the board.

M-Y-B-U-S-I-N-E-S-S-I-S-W-I-T-H-T-H-E-D-E-A-D

"It's not. You owe me another match."

I-D-O-N-O-T

"You do so," Kaiba snaps. "I haven't _beaten you_ yet, and you _owe me that!_ "

T-A-N-T-R-U-M

"Shut up!"

O-K

All at once, the pressure in his arm vanishes. Seto feels no more odd tugs at the planchette, and the board goes back to just sitting there doing nothing at all. He snarls and flings the board off the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking and talking while writing emails on a hologram projected over his arm has never been difficult for Seto, but it does require quite a bit of concentration. This is not usually a problem, no matter where he is. It's easy to tune out the hustle and bustle of the masses going about their Domino City business; they walk around, they mutter, sometimes there's a sharp jolt of children shrieking or someone laughing too loudly. It's all very predictable. He doesn't need to pay any of it any mind. People know better than to bother him. People know better than to get in his way.

He doesn't need to look where he's going, because the world around him will move to accommodate his presence. Domino City belongs to him, and it knows that it has no choice but to bow to Seto Kaiba's will or face oblivion. There is not enough time for him to waste any on useless things. If something doesn't work for him, he fixes it. If it can't be fixed, then he discards it. It doesn't matter if the "it" in question is a person, a city, a concept, an object.

Traffic lights change for him. Cars stop. Doors open. Crowds part. People scatter. He can count on one hand the number of people in the world who wouldn't get out of the way when they saw Seto Kaiba coming.

Seto makes only the briefest note of the tacky Halloween carnival as he passes through it; they did have to ask him for permission to put it together, since there's hardly any land left in the city he doesn't own. It is garish, it has nothing to do with Duel Monsters or KaibaCorp, and it isn't even Halloween yet. (Mokuba insists that it's perfectly acceptable to celebrate Halloween for the entire month of October; Mokuba is responsible for the tacky seasonal decorations in the lobby of KaibaCorp HQ.)

...That is, he makes only the briefest note of it until he is _accosted_ by an old woman clattering with tacky oversized jewelry and some kind of airy-fairy shawl. She grabs his arm. Seto stops dead in his tracks, pauses mid-sentence out-loud and in typing. Everything stops. He is thoroughly interrupted.

"Young man," the old lady says. "Please, I beg you, wait a moment. Let me help you."

Seto's entire face twists into a sneer. He taps at his earpiece and says, "Just a minute. I'm being assaulted by some kind of circus freak," into the mic, then stares down at the old lady. "You have five seconds to remove your hand from my person before I file a lawsuit."

He has no particular desire to take this sideshow's money, but it's the principle of the thing. He tabs out of his email and fiddles rapidly with his hologram display to grab some facial recognition software. Can't file a lawsuit without a name. The old woman jerks her hand away in alarm, but she shifts to stand in his way. "Please," she says again.

"I don't have time for your festive nonsense," Seto says irritably. He turns and walks away, handrising to his earpiece to resume his conversation.

"There is a powerful presence dogging your footsteps. It follows you," says the old lady tremulously. "A dark spirit. A terrible power. Please, let me help you."

Seto stops. He turns. He lowers his hand. The old woman wrings her hands and stares anxiously back at him.

It's just some old dingbat in a Halloween costume spouting mystical mumbo-jumbo to try and leech cash out of passing morons. But a ouija board is just a Victorian parlor game, and Duel Monsters is just a card game. If there's a chance, even a slim one, then doesn't he have to take it?

The old woman is encouraged by his pause. She gestures towards a garish tent, navy blue, patterned with stars and crescent moons. "Of course," Seto mutters. He narrows his eyes at it, daring it to justify its existence. His eyes flick back to the old woman. "This _presence._ What is it?"

The woman shakes her head; her bangles and layered necklaces jangle. She's really wearing a lot of jewelry. A dozen bracelets of different sizes, dangling feather earrings, and at least three different necklaces. All different colors, but mostly fake gold. It all looks cheap. "I've never felt the like," says the old woman. She holds up a hand, giving him a serious look. "Let me do a reading for you, child. Just five cards. Maybe I can help you, if you come with me. Just for a few minutes..."

Seto rolls his eyes and taps at his wrist. "A few minutes," he says flatly.

The inside of the tent is just as tacky as the outside. She has a fortune-telling table with a cheap crushed-velvet stretch of fabric for a tablecloth. It's not even hemmed. They sit on opposite sides of the table on plastic folding chairs. Everything in the tent is so cheap it feels like just being here is making him poorer. Seto wants to take a shower. "Get to it, then," he says impatiently, while the old woman settles comfortably into her chair with a creaky sigh.

"Alright, alright..." she says, and leans over to pick up her deck of tarot cards. They look old-- stained and faded and damaged. Can anyone really make a living off of something like this? Disgusting. The old woman pauses for a long moment, looking at her cards, and the tent gets ever so slightly warmer.

"Fortune-telling with cards is an old practice," says the old woman. Seto narrows his eyes at her to silently telegraph his impatience. She looks up at him, expression more severe than it was before. "A five-card spread is simple. It won't take long. I can sense you're a busy man."

Seto snorts. "You expect me to be impressed by that kind of cold read? I was busy when you stopped me. If you didn't sense it, you'd have to be blind. Move this along, would you?"

The old woman clicks her tongue, then holds out the deck to him. "Shuffle this, as much as you'd like."

"Is that necessary?" Seto asks, eyeing the cards with distaste. She nods and shoves the deck at him, so he takes it and reluctantly attempts to shuffle it. The cards are larger than playing cards, so it is uncomfortable, even with his long fingers. Not to mention how dirty the cards are. He does the bare minimum and hands the cards back.

The woman does even more fussing with the cards, cutting them into piles and then finally actually setting them out on the table in a line. She puts her finger on the first one and turns it over. "The first card represents you and your situation. It'll offer clarity on what's happening to you..." she says creakily. XIII. Death. Seto glares at the card, then at the old woman. That seems pretty straightforward. "Death... the card of new beginnings... of great change. Something has died, so that something else could grow and thrive..." muses the woman. "Have you lost someone...?"

"No," Seto says flatly.

The old woman looks skeptical. "You must remember that no one can overcome death. It is an absolute," she says sternly. He rolls his eyes. "Death is a natural part of life. All things must come to an end."

"Uh-huh."

"The second card..." she says with a sigh. "It represents obstacles."

She turns over the second card; I. The Magician, reversed. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. Something in her voice seems to vibrate in the air, too deep but somehow also still perfectly ordinary. "Say hello to an old friend."

Seto's eyes snap back to the woman; she's smiling crookedly at him, lounging in her plastic chair with a very _particular_ uncanny confidence, and her eyes look darker than they did before. Almost red. Seto shifts back in his seat, eyes fixed warily on her face. Is this some kind of joke? Some prank Mokuba set up? "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

The old woman quirks her eyebrows at him and nods at the table; when Seto looks back at it, the second face-up card is just a Duel Monsters card. The Dark Magician sits on the crushed velvet tablecloth where there was a tarot card just a moment ago.

Immediately, like he's been burned, Seto jerks to his feet, knocking over the cheap plastic chair he was sitting in. It thunks to the ground with a muffled noise. Seto slams his hands onto the table, looming over the cards with a vicious scowl. "What kind of _game_ are you playing?" he snarls.

The old woman picks up her deck again and shuffles it idly, stretching her legs out in front of her. "I'm just an old woman. I don't play games," she says. "The Magician, reversed. Shortsightedness. Poor planning. Abuse of power. Failure. Fraud. Deceit. Being in over your head. Sound familiar, Kaiba?"

Magic.

This isn't magic. It can't be. It's a joke. It's ridiculous. Right? Surely. Seto can't help eyeing the deck of cards the old woman is playing with. Card-based fortune-telling... if he was going to make an appearance, then surely it would be in a situation like this. But that's impossible, and it's stupid. "Good thing I'm incapable of failure," Seto growls at the old woman. "What's with the card tricks? What're you playing at?"

The old woman makes a very distinctive _huh_ noise that isn't quite a laugh but is somewhere in that vicinity. She sets the deck of cards down on the table again. "I'm just a medium. I pass on the messages from the spirit world. I--"

"Don't give me that!" Seto snaps. He slams his hand down onto the Dark Magician card. "This. What is this."

"The Magician is one of the twenty-two--"

Seto snarls wordlessly. He considers for a delirious moment lunging at the old woman, then decides it would be more prudent to just storm off. "I'm done with this moronic charade," he says on his way out.

The old woman leans back in her chair. "What about the rest of your fortune, Kaiba?"

"I make my own fortune."


	3. Chapter 3

Seto sits at the kitchen table typing with one hand and holding a mug of coffee with the other. He has been sitting there for 8-- his eyes flick briefly to the time, then back to his work-- 14 hours, getting up only to get himself more coffee. Industrial Illusions, perhaps out of some kind of vicious spite, decided to spring a game update on everyone: new art for a slew of classic Duel Monsters cards, including _random secret color variations._ He has been working nonstop (not scrambling, because Seto Kaiba does not scramble) to accommodate the update as soon as possible.

Mokuba shuffles in to get himself some breakfast, yawning sleepily, still in his pajamas. "Morning, Seto..." he mumbles. The cabinet doors opening and closing are entirely too audible, but Seto files that grievance under _you're just tired_ and deigns not to complain about it. His brother yawns again and opens the fridge with a rattling noise. "You know, the lights were turning on and off again last night."

"Mm," Seto says without looking up from his computer. He sips his coffee, then puts it down and goes back to typing with both hands. There's a pause while Mokuba sleepily gets some milk out of the fridge.

"...ewwww, the milk's curdled again..."

Seto figures that warrants some kind of response, so he says, "Mm," again. It's not like it's a surprise. Mokuba sighs loudly, presumably because he wants him to say something besides _mm._ Seto helpfully adds, "You're not a baby any more, Mokuba. It's about time you grew up and developed lactose intolerance already. Take it as an opportunity for personal growth."

"I want milk in my cereal..." Mokuba grumbles. Seto continues working. The milk glugs into the sink. "Are the eggs full of blood, too?"

"I'm working, Mokuba, you think I have time to crack open a dozen eggs to check for blood?" Seto mutters irritably at his laptop screen. There's another loud dramatic sigh, and the fridge opens again. The aggravated sighing on top of the clattering about is distracting. "Are you having an asthma attack?"

"Huh? No, big brother, I'm just... you know..." Seto does not helpfully chime in to finish his thought for him. There's an echoing ringing noise as Mokuba taps an egg on the side of a bowl, then the distinctive crack of him opening the egg, then a groan. "Gross... this is getting out of hand, don't you think?"

"What is."

"Being haunted." The lights in the kitchen flick off, then on again. Seto rolls his eyes while Mokuba sets about making himself some toast. "I thought it was bad enough when those guys working on the tomb came down with some kind of pox, but I'm really not enjoying all this stuff with the groceries."

"It wasn't a pox, it was the bubonic plague."

"That's worse!" Mokuba's toast pops up out of the toaster. "It's worse and it's besides the point!"

"Beside isn't plural. Are you going to try and blame a ghost for bad grammar, too? It's coincidence, Mokuba. You've been watching too much TV," Seto says irritably. "We're not being haunted."

The coffee mug next to his hand flings itself off the table and into the wall. It shatters and Mokuba yelps in alarm. Seto keeps typing, ignoring the phenomenon entirely in favor of his work. "Seto! That's the kind of thing I'm talking about!"

"If the mug can't stand up to getting thrown into the wall, it wasn't gonna last long anyway," Seto mutters. "I have work to do. I don't have time for hysterics."

Mokuba slumps into a chair across the table from where Seto is sitting, fiddling with his toast more than he eats it. The slouching is enough to tug Seto's attention away from his computer screen to actually look at Mokuba for a moment. His brother picks bits of the bread's crust off with his fingernails, turning his food over in his hands instead of eating. "Seto... what if..." he starts, then stops and takes a large loud bite of toast.

This kind of conversational non-starter is not something Seto would ordinarily indulge, but Mokuba is an exception. He arches an eyebrow and presses, "What if _what_ , Mokuba?"

"I'm not saying you definitely did, big brother, but, I can't help wondering what if maybe you might have kind of... accidentally... weakened the barrier between our world and the spirit world and invited an evil ghost into our home?" Mokuba says awkwardly, around a mouthful of toast.

Seto gives him a long flat look. "Mokuba, you're coming dangerously close to some of your harebrained ideas making it up onto the top ten list of dumbest things anyone has ever said to me."

Mokuba looks equal parts hurt and exasperated. "It's not dumb! Ghosts are real! Evil magic stuff is real! Something is curdling our milk and turning the lights on and off and it might be the Pharaoh but it also might be something else!"

The lights flicker again. Seto sneers at his laptop. "If his royal highness has time to waste playing childish pranks--"

" _The bubonic plague,_ Seto!"

" _\--childish pranks,_ " Seto repeats, more viciously. "If he has time for that, then the only reason he hasn't come back properly is because he's too _scared of losing_ to face me in a duel."

If it gets a little less unseasonably warm in the kitchen when he says that, Seto certainly doesn't notice.

"So you _don't_ think it's him...?" Mokuba asks anxiously, wide eyes going even wider than usual. "Isn't that bad? Are you saying I'm right??"

"No ghost in his right mind would dare challenge Seto Kaiba on his home turf," Seto declares. "Ergo: either it's the Pharaoh being a huge coward, which he would insist he is not, or it's nothing. So stop worrying about it and eat your breakfast."

"What?" Mokuba blinks a few times. "Wait, no, really, what? That doesn't make any sense, Seto..."

With an aggravated noise, Seto stands up to get himself another cup of coffee. "If it is a ghost, hypothetically speaking-- which it's not-- then all this ghost is doing is making a nuisance of himself. He's accomplishing nothing whatsoever besides maybe turning you vegan. What's there to worry about?" He snorts. "Of course, there's a chance the Pharaoh might be trying to performatively stoop to new lows of pathetic obnoxious cowardice in an attempt to get me off his back, but I think he hit rock bottom when he decided to possess a scrawny dweeb and pal around with a bunch of idiot criminal children."

Seto turns and sips his new cup of coffee, eyeing Mokuba appraisingly. Some of the tension that was in Mokuba's shoulders has dissipated. He's not scared any more, so Seto's job is done. Mokuba attempts to seriously and thoughtfully drink his orange juice, the seriousness of which is mitigated somewhat by his pastel green pajamas and bunny slippers. "Seto... don't you think you just admitted to having bad taste?" Mokuba asks. "You're the one chasing him, after all. Even though he's pathetic and obnoxious."

Seto takes an unnecessarily long sip of coffee, scowling down at Mokuba the whole time while he tries to formulate an appropriately cutting response. Predictably, Mokuba props up his chin on his hand and smirks at him until Seto has to stop pretending to sip his coffee and say something. "...my taste is impeccable," Seto says eventually. Mokuba laughs. So does the ghost.


End file.
